


Always

by StuckInAFantasy6



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Emotional Manipulation, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Memory Loss, Psychological Torture, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21880780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuckInAFantasy6/pseuds/StuckInAFantasy6
Summary: “No one is coming to help you.”But they had promised her 'always'. If only she remembered who they were.
Relationships: Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn
Comments: 17
Kudos: 20





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the fluffiest of fluff last time, so please excuse me whilst I dump this hot mess of angst on all of you. I promise I love Macy, really...I'm going to crawl back into my cocoon of shameless fluff for now.

**“No one is coming to help you.”**

An unfamiliar disembodied voice should have frightened her, and it would have, had everything in this place not been so twisted and intangible by nature. Had she not been so sick of being trapped inside her own mind.

Macy strained to able to see the figure cloaked in the darkness, narrowing her eyes– 

Stop.

_‘Don’t do that, Macy. You’ll ruin your eyes.’_

It only made everything worse. 

Blinding, hot pain pricked behind her eyes. Thick strings of tension - stretched out, uncoiled, like a washing line - tight inside her head. Pinching. But heavy from the fatigue clouding her mind-

Ready to snap every time she drew her eyebrows together _pulling, pulling, pulling_. 

_Don’t._

Fuck.

When she was little, she would squint and rub her knuckles over her eyelids until the black behind them was pierced by explosions of red and blue and yellow and green- 

Her father scolded her. 

She would ruin her eyes.

Perhaps he was right. 

Flashing colours materialised in the absence of light. But true darkness was thick – was that what was choking her? – the colours were spotty, fleeting, and she couldn’t focus. As they swam close to her face and danced away from her, she wondered if they even existed at all. 

_Tickticktick._

They existed to her. She was her only authority now that she was here. Though, where she had been before she didn’t know. She tried to push the questions out her mind, knowing all too well that they would go unanswered only causing her more frustration and panic, and to focus on just feeling. 

She was hollow. Her throat sticking and closing. She thought that possibly she had tried to speak at first, demanded answers and pleaded and hollered promises of revenge into the void, but she hadn’t made a sound in so long she couldn’t be sure. Her chest was heavy, made more intense by the raw emptiness gnawing at the pit of her stomach, the feeling of her bones eroding away…no, not yet.

The wall was cold behind her back. Brick, maybe…it was rough under her fingers. Her nails had splintered against its bumpy surface when she had tried to grip something, anything, when it had proven too hard to breathe. Numb from the cold, it was difficult to tell whether the wetness that bloomed from her fingertips was her own blood or perhaps it was seeping in through the walls. 

She couldn’t bring herself to care.

Pressing herself against the brick did little to quell her anxiety about the long stretch of murky darkness in front of her. It lacked depth entirely and was endless to her simultaneously. Lucid enough to know that there be must four walls surrounding her – though she didn’t know how far the other three were – she knew she had been caged in. See, for the darkness to prevail here it had to be contained, after all, the sun would always rise and night would flourish into day. Containing the darkness, now that felt familiar to her. She derived no comfort from that familiarity, however. 

There was no night and day for her anymore.

Only a ticking sound echoing through her brain in tandem with the pulsing headache. 

Brains aren’t supposed to tick.

Women aren’t supposed to be locked inside boxes. 

Was she alone? She was used to being alone.

But the dreams had seemed so real. Falling asleep in the pitch black and awakening only to be greeted with the same nothingness _overandoverandover_ had taken its toll. She could have sworn she felt ice cold fingers sliding over her cheek, the caress biting into her skin, burning her… 

_Tickticktick_.

Too many damn questions. The answers always just out of reach, taunting her. 

She couldn’t remember.

Blood, once warm and fresh and _dripping_ , was tacky against her skin under her damp curls. Patches that had dried more thoroughly than others had cracked over the delicate skin of her face, splintering around one of her eyes and the corner of her parched lips. 

Maybe that was it.

Maybe. 

She couldn’t remember.

Although the voice was not kind, she welcomed it for the interruption of her own thoughts. If she didn’t know any better, she would think she was going insane. 

**No one**.

Could that be right? Most people had people. Families and friends and lovers. She didn’t feel any compelling connection to those words but surely, there must be one person out there waiting on her – or at the very least someone who would notice that she was gone.

_‘Come on, Macy. Think. You can do better than this. You’re special.’_

Her dad.

If she was so special, then why was no one looking for her? Was he? 

No.

Not anymore. 

So, maybe there really was no one else.

She closed her eyes, not that it made much difference - _nothing minus nothing was still nothing_ – and tried to force herself to remember. The jagged edge of her nails dug into her skin and she channelled all her concentration into the feeling of it. 

This couldn’t be all that’s left for her.

There must be more. 

There _must_ be-

_A thumb rubbing circles into her palm._

_A curtain of coffee brown hair, warm like sunshine, falling across her shoulder as someone fell asleep on her._

_Tea splashing against the side of a mug. Dripdripdrip._

_Dark brown eyes. Forgiveness._

_Her name. Someone, or maybe everyone, begging her to stop._

_What were their names?_

_His smile. Pine and spice and peppermint toothpaste._

_His breath on her neck._

_His lips on hers. Almost._

_Always almost._

_Come back._

_Arms circling her. Safe. She was safe._

_Always._

_They promised-_

**“I don’t know what’s going on inside that pretty little head of yours, but trust me when I tell you, darling, you're on your own now.”**

Flames sprang up out of nowhere – if Macy hadn’t been so disorientated by the sudden rush of visual stimulation, she might have questioned how far inside her own mind she had been that she hadn’t processed the sound of footsteps nor the sound of the torch being lit. The fire chased away the darkness surrounding it and licked at the frigid air around it; it was captivating to her and she knew it went beyond the craving for anything but the shadows, even if she didn’t know exactly what it was about the orange glow. Luckily for her, though, the torch provided just enough light to reveal her captor. 

Light brown hair. Not the coffee brown hair that had felt so soft and comforting in her mind.

A sharp jaw set with self-restraint. Cruel eyes scrutinising her as if Macy’s very existence both amused her and offended her in a very personal way. 

_Always._

_They promised._


End file.
